CHAPTER 18: FOUNDATION

That night, several things from Joe's first day at the Talent Hall refused to leave his mind.

The contract was one of them. Sean's classroom was another.

Green Hollow still looked, in most obvious ways, like a poor agricultural village. Houses were built from timber, clay and straw. Farming tools were simple, good iron products were expensive, and books remained valuable enough that Joe had barely seen any before entering the Hall.

Then there was smooth, remarkably uniform paper.

Large writing boards.

Contracts that responded to spoken consent and left marks beneath the skin.

And spiritual calligraphy, which Sean had discussed with enough confidence that nobody in the classroom had treated it as an obscure legend.

Joe's previous-life instincts were becoming less reliable as a measure of what should or should not exist here.

Perhaps development in this world had followed a completely different direction from the one he remembered. A society could be poor in some technologies while developing other fields much further.

For a moment, Joe even wondered whether some of these things might have survived from an older and more advanced period.

The thought was tempting.

There was nowhere near enough evidence to take it seriously.

Joe stopped there.

Speculation was useful only until it began pretending to be knowledge.

A few days later, Mike's grain returned from Blackwood in another form.

Silver.

The market group had managed to sell the family's surplus at a good price. After transport costs and the small fee paid to the men handling the sale, Mike received close to what he had hoped for.

Around ten silverlings.

It was one of the better harvest returns the family had seen in years.

Lily began dividing the money before Mike had even finished counting it.

"Salt first. We need oil before Deepwinter, and that roof patch isn't lasting another spring. Simon needs another shirt, Mary will need shoes before long, and the hoe handle is splitting again."

Mike listened.

At least, he appeared to.

Joe had known his father long enough to recognize the expression.

Mike was thinking about something else.

Lily noticed too.

"What?"

Mike looked up.

"What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one you make before spending money."

Mike laughed awkwardly.

"I haven't spent anything."

Lily stared at him.

That was technically true.

It remained true for less than a day.

The travelling merchant who had stayed in Green Hollow after Starlight still had several medicinal preparations intended for martial trainees.

Mike had looked at them before the grain sold.

Now he had silver.

By evening, he returned home carrying a small wrapped package.

Lily saw it before he reached the hearth.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What's that?"

Mike hesitated.

Joe immediately became interested.

Simon did too.

"Medicine," Mike said.

Lily's expression did not improve.

"How much?"

Mike set the package down.

"Not that much."

"How much?"

"Four."

Lily stared at him.

"Four bronzelets?"

Mike said nothing.

The room went quiet.

Even Pam stopped talking.

Joe had rarely seen that happen.

Lily looked at the package again.

Then at Mike.

"Four silverlings?"

"It's martial medicine."

"Four silverlings?"

"The merchant said—"

"The merchant sells it."

Mike lifted both hands slightly.

"I asked at the Hall too."

"After you bought it?"

"Before."

That helped a little.

Not enough.

Simon had moved closer to the package.

"What kind of medicine?"

Lily pointed at him without turning.

"Don't touch it. This is partly your fault."

Simon stopped immediately.

"How is it my fault?"

"You started all this martial nonsense."

"I passed the test."

"Exactly."

Simon looked toward Joe as though hoping for support.

Joe wisely remained uninvolved.

Mike unwrapped the outer cloth.

Inside sat a sealed clay container.

"The merchant said it's a common recovery medicine for young trainees. Not the expensive kind the rich families use. One of the older boys at the Hall recognized the name and said he's taken it before."

Lily folded her arms.

"So because some boy recognized a jar, you spent four silverlings."

"It's not just a jar."

"For four silverlings, something better be inside it."

Pam recovered enough to join the conversation.

"Martha's sister's grandson bought martial medicine once."

Lily closed her eyes.

"Mother."

"What?"

"Please don't."

Pam ignored her.

"He said it made him sweat for two days."

Mike looked at the jar.

"Was that the same medicine?"

"I don't know."

"Then why are you telling us?"

"Because we're talking about medicine."

That was apparently enough reason.

Joseph had been sitting near the hearth repairing a strap. He finally looked up.

"Did the grain sell?"

Mike stared at him.

"Yes, Father."

"For ten?"

"About ten."

Joseph nodded.

"Good."

Then he returned to the strap.

Lily looked at him.

"He spent four of it."

Joseph looked up again.

"On what?"

There was a short silence.

Pam began laughing first.

Lily rubbed her forehead.

"Medicine."

Joseph looked at the package.

"Oh."

That seemed to be the extent of his reaction.

Mike seized the opportunity.

"Both boys are training now. Simon's already told us how much medicine and food matter, and Joe just started. We had a good harvest. If this gives them a better start, when are we supposed to spend the money if not now?"

Lily stared at him.

"When the roof leaks."

"It isn't leaking now."

"It leaked last spring."

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"We patched it."

"Badly."

"It held."

"So far."

Mike remained optimistic.

"We still have six silverlings left, grain in storage and food from the harvest. I'm not buying this every month. I bought one package while we could afford it."

Joe understood the reasoning.

It was not entirely foolish.

It also was not the kind of calculation Joe would have made before spending forty percent of the household's latest income.

Mike had seen an opportunity and grabbed it.

Whether it was worth the cost came afterward.

Pam looked at the package and shook her head.

"People always spend silver when the harvest is good. Then spring comes, the roof leaks, the pig gets sick and everyone acts surprised that silver doesn't grow back."

Mike looked at her.

"You just said martial medicine worked for someone's grandson."

"I said he sweated."

"That's not the same thing."

"Exactly."

Joe almost smiled.

Occasionally Pam wandered through three pieces of gossip and somehow arrived at the most sensible point in the room.

Lily looked toward Simon and Joe.

Her eyes paused on Simon first.

That was not surprising.

For three years, the household had spent whatever extra food it could spare on his training.

Now there were two boys.

"How long does it last?" she asked.

Mike relaxed slightly.

"A few weeks. Longer if we divide it carefully."

"Between both of them?"

"Yes."

Simon leaned closer.

"How much do we take?"

Lily gave him a look.

Simon moved back.

Mike continued.

"The merchant gave instructions. Small portions after hard training days. He said not to waste it every day."

Lily looked at the jar again.

"Four silverlings for a few weeks."

Pam snorted.

"At that price, the boys better become Theodere."

Simon immediately brightened.

"I could."

Pam looked at him.

"No."

Simon frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because one Theodere is already enough noise for this village."

"Master Theodere barely talks."

"I wasn't talking about him."

Simon realized what she meant.

Joe looked away.

Lily's mouth tightened slightly, but she did not correct her mother-in-law.

Instead, she pointed toward Simon's sleeve.

"And you still need clothes."

Simon looked down.

A patch covered one elbow.

He quietly moved the arm behind his back.

Mike noticed.

"That shirt is fine."

Lily turned toward him.

"Of course you think it is."

The argument continued for several more minutes.

Nobody told Mike to return the medicine.

That mattered more than the complaining.

Four silverlings hurt.

The household could have used the money in half a dozen other places.

But Simon had trained for three years without regular medicinal support, and Joe had now qualified despite the odds. For a farming family with six strips of land, two sons inside the Talent Hall represented possibilities far larger than another shirt or a better roof patch.

They gambled.

Not recklessly enough to spend everything.

Enough to feel it.

When the container was finally opened, the medicine looked thoroughly unimpressive.

It was a dark medicinal paste with a bitter herbal smell.

Mary appeared almost immediately.

"What is it?"

"Medicine," Simon said.

Mary looked interested.

"For me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you don't train."

Mary looked toward Joe.

"I can train."

Lily answered before he could.

"No."

Mary frowned.

"I can."

"You can stay away from it."

That ended the matter.

Or should have.

Mary waited until everyone was distracted, then reached one finger toward the edge of the container.

Lily caught her wrist without even looking.

"Try it."

Mary froze.

Lily finally turned toward her.

"Go ahead."

Mary slowly pulled her hand back.

"I don't want it."

"Good."

She disappeared toward Pam.

Joe suspected Mary had learned more from Lily's tone than from the words.

Mike divided the medicine according to the merchant's instructions.

Simon and Joe received small portions only after particularly demanding training days.

The taste was awful.

Simon swallowed his first portion, made a face and then nodded with satisfaction.

"That's strong."

Joe looked at him.

"Because it's bitter?"

"Good medicine is supposed to taste bad."

"Why?"

Simon paused.

"Because otherwise people would eat too much."

Joe considered that.

It was not the worst reasoning Simon had ever produced.

It was still probably wrong.

The effect, however, was difficult to dismiss.

On days when Joe took the paste after training, recovery seemed easier. His appetite increased, soreness faded more quickly and a persistent warmth remained in his body after meals.

Simon described something similar at considerably greater length.

"I told you it was powerful. Yesterday my legs hurt when we came home, and this morning they barely hurt at all. Victor said medicinal food does that too, but this feels stronger. I think the warmth means it's helping the blood energy."

"Do you know that?"

Simon looked at him.

"It feels like it."

That meant no.

Joe could not determine whether the preparation directly affected blood energy or simply gave the body more resources for recovery.

Either explanation would make it useful.

What mattered was that it seemed to help.

It was also temporary.

Joe kept that distinction in mind.

The following morning, his actual foundation training began.

The Hall's beginner method consisted of six static stances, each paired with a particular breathing pattern.

Hall explained that the foundation was ancient and widely practiced throughout the country. Different martial inheritances might alter or build upon it later, but the basic method itself did not belong exclusively to Theodere.

Versions of the same foundation supposedly existed far beyond their region.

Joe had no way to verify that.

Still, the claim mattered.

This was not a village exercise Theodere had invented.

It belonged to a broader martial system.

The newest students trained in a section of the compound reserved specifically for static foundation practice.

The dynamic training area lay farther away.

The separation was deliberate.

Students who had not achieved minor success in the static foundation were not taught the dynamic forms and were discouraged from trying to observe them closely.

Most trainees in the dynamic section were older children who had already spent years learning to sense blood energy properly.

Simon now trained there.

That meant Joe saw surprisingly little of him during actual practice.

They walked to the Hall together before sunrise, separated after entering and usually met again during meals or on the way home.

Senior trainees occasionally crossed into the static area when Hall assigned them to correct beginners.

The dynamic methods themselves remained out of sight.

Hall was strict about that.

"Don't copy what you see from a distance," he told the newest students. "You don't understand what they're doing."

One boy raised his hand.

"But what if we remember the movements?"

Hall looked at him.

"Then you'll remember movements you don't understand."

A few of the children smiled.

Hall did not.

"Static practice teaches you to sense blood energy. Dynamic practice teaches you to move it. Trying to move something you cannot even sense is stupidity, not ambition."

Nobody asked again.

Joe had no objection.

Seeing something was not the same as learning it.

No Regression preserved genuine progress once Joe had actually earned it. It did not turn an observed movement into understanding.

The six static stances looked almost insultingly simple when Hall demonstrated them.

They stopped looking simple after Joe tried to hold the first one.

His legs began trembling before he expected them to. His shoulders tightened, his weight drifted toward one side without him noticing and the breathing rhythm Hall had demonstrated became increasingly difficult to maintain as fatigue built.

Hall walked behind him and pressed lightly against his upper back.

"Straight."

Joe adjusted.

A senior assistant moved his left foot.

"Too far inward."

Joe corrected it.

Several minutes later, his knees had begun drifting out of position.

That first week removed any remaining suspicion that Perfect Body might somehow make him instantly competent at martial arts.

It helped.

His balance was excellent for his age, his coordination was better than most of the other beginners and his body responded quickly once he understood a correction.

But martial training contained details he had never practiced before.

He still had to learn them.

The first month consisted mostly of repetition.

Stand, breathe, hold, rest and repeat.

The six stances stressed different parts of the body. Some exhausted his thighs, while others placed strain through the hips, back or shoulders. Maintaining the correct breathing rhythm while muscles began burning proved considerably harder than standing properly while fresh.

Hall cared about details Joe would never have identified alone: the direction of the knees, distribution of weight, position of the spine, relaxation of the shoulders, depth of breathing and whether posture changed between inhalation and exhalation.

Joe was corrected frequently at first.

Then the same corrections became less necessary.

That was where No Regression began showing its value.

Once Joe properly understood an adjustment and genuinely learned the correct position, that improvement did not gradually fade through imperfect memory.

His body still had limits.

Knowing the proper stance did not mean exhausted muscles could hold it forever. Fatigue still pulled him out of position, and lack of strength still limited how long he could maintain the form.

But the acquired progress remained.

One morning, an assistant corrected the angle of Joe's left foot.

Joe practiced it properly afterward.

The next day, he did not need the same correction.

Hall adjusted the way he distributed weight through his hips. Once Joe genuinely understood what the correct balance felt like, that understanding remained available.

The advantage seemed small on any single day.

Across several weeks, it accumulated.

The medicine helped during those early weeks as well.

Joe's body already recovered unusually well because of Perfect Health and Perfect Body. Combined with two Hall meals each day and Mike's medicinal paste, however, he often returned the following morning in remarkably good condition despite the previous day's training.

That mattered when he compared himself with Simon.

His brother had not received the same support during his first year.

Joe was beginning from a better position.

He did not forget that.

Even with those advantages, he remained nowhere near minor success.

Correct posture was only part of the foundation.

Its real purpose was learning to sense blood energy.

According to Hall, blood energy already existed throughout the body. Food, health and natural vitality all contributed to it, but most ordinary people could live their entire lives without becoming consciously aware of its presence.

Static practice was designed to change that.

The breathing patterns and body positions supposedly made blood energy easier to perceive.

At least eventually.

Joe felt nothing unusual during his first attempts.

His legs became warm, his heart beat faster and his muscles burned.

Ordinary exercise explained all of that.

Several children became excited during the first weeks and announced that they had already sensed blood energy.

Hall was rarely impressed.

One boy described warmth spreading through his thigh after holding a stance.

Hall looked at his position.

"Your leg is warm because you've been standing badly for twenty minutes. That is not enlightenment."

The senior assistants laughed.

After that, the beginners became much less eager to announce every unusual sensation.

Joe appreciated Hall for it.

If blood energy existed, Joe wanted to recognize it rather than convince himself that ordinary circulation was something mystical.

The better the static foundation became, the clearer blood energy was supposed to feel.

Only after a student could sense it consistently and bring all six static stances to minor success would Hall allow them to begin learning the dynamic foundation.

The two stages served different purposes.

Static allowed sensing.

Dynamic taught movement and control.

According to Hall's explanation, the dynamic foundation contained six primary patterns paired with their own breathing methods. Joe knew only that much. The actual movements remained restricted until he was ready to learn them.

Once both static and dynamic foundations reached minor success, a trainee could begin deliberately guiding blood energy into the skin.

That marked the beginning of true body tempering.

Skin came first.

Then muscle.

Then bone.

Only after reaching the point where internal-organ tempering could begin would Theodere recognize someone as a true martial artist.

Everyone below that threshold remained a martial trainee.

Simon had spent roughly three years bringing his static foundation to minor success and had only recently entered the dynamic group.

That was considered normal progress for an ordinary village trainee.

Joe learned something else during those first weeks.

Martial arts consumed resources.

The reason became obvious after experiencing the training himself.

Joe finished most mornings hungry enough to eat almost anything Hall's canteen placed in front of him. Perfect Health and Perfect Body improved recovery, but neither talent could manufacture energy from nothing.

The body still required food.

That was where wealth became impossible to ignore.

The richer students ate better.

Many used medicinal meals every day.

Some received additional preparations from home.

Better nutrition did not teach correct posture or automatically produce control over blood energy, but it supported stronger bodies, faster recovery and more consistent training.

Blood energy itself also appeared connected, at least partly, to physical vitality.

Healthier and better-fed trainees generally handled the early stages more easily.

Wealth did not guarantee success.

It made success easier to pursue.

Joe began understanding why martial qualification could become both a blessing and a burden for a poor household.

At seven, entering the Hall looked entirely positive.

A child gained food, literacy, instruction and a possible route away from ordinary farm labor.

Then progress created new expenses.

Better food helped.

Medicine helped more.

Equipment eventually mattered.

Advanced stages demanded resources ordinary village families simply did not possess.

Mike's four silverlings had already demonstrated that.

The medicine lasted only several weeks.

There was no second package.

Mike did not even suggest one.

Neither did Lily.

Joe's training continued after the final portion disappeared.

So did his progress.

But now he had something useful to compare against.

The medicine had helped.

Not enough to transform him overnight, and not enough for Joe to isolate exactly what part of his improvement came from it.

Still, the difference was noticeable.

That made the wealthy trainees' daily advantages much easier to understand.

One expensive purchase had supported Joe and Simon for several weeks.

Some families supplied comparable resources continuously for years.

That gap could not be ignored.

Joe began hearing stories from older trainees.

One family had sold two animals to buy medicine for a promising son.

Another had borrowed silver.

A nearby farming household had supposedly sold part of its land after their eldest child reached Skin Tempering unusually early. The family expected him to continue progressing quickly and recover the sacrifice later.

He did not.

His progress slowed.

The land never returned.

Joe had no way to know how much of the story had changed through retelling.

Nobody at the Hall considered the basic idea unbelievable.

That mattered more.

Martial success offered a genuine chance to change a family's position.

People gambled on that chance.

Sometimes the gamble worked.

Sometimes it did not.

Joe's family now faced an additional problem.

There were two trainees.

Mike and Lily had already struggled to provide Simon with anything beyond the free support offered by the Hall.

Providing both boys with the resources available to wealthy students was impossible.

The Hall's meals and instruction made training possible.

They did not make it equal.

Joe accepted that.

Complaining would not produce silver.

Information was more useful.

He began paying closer attention to what happened to students over the longer term.

The Hall supported trainees until sixteen.

After that, they left.

The most important evaluations occurred as older students approached the end of their time there. Before Starlight each year, Theodere personally assessed those who might qualify for opportunities outside Green Hollow.

For ordinary students, the Blackwood town guard was the most desirable path.

A few wealthy trainees continued into larger martial schools, but even among the paying students, families capable of supporting that route were uncommon.

These were prosperous merchants, wealthy landowners and minor officials.

They were not great clans with unlimited money.

Most trainees eventually needed employment.

Some became hunters.

Some joined caravans.

Others found work where physical strength or literacy mattered.

A large number simply returned to village life.

They came back stronger, healthier and better educated than when they had entered the Hall, but training alone did not turn someone into a member of a higher class.

Joe learned much of this by listening to older students approaching their final years.

Simon knew parts of it too.

He simply did not think about them very often.

He was ten.

Sixteen still felt distant.

Joe knew better.

Years disappeared quickly.

Nine years of Hall support sounded enormous only if someone assumed all nine would be used efficiently.

Joe intended to waste as little of that time as possible.